


Sticker Price of Admission

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 2018 US Election, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Puns, Banter during sex, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Desecration of a voting sticker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Switching, Kissing, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Politics, Polyamory, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Misha Collins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 07:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16551323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: Jensen's having a tough time with Beto's loss in Texas. Misha thinks he should try to be more positive. They have sex about it.





	Sticker Price of Admission

**Author's Note:**

> Pay no attention to me. Uh. This is totally just a bit of fluff that I said I'd write if the midterm elections went well for Democrats, and I think they did, all things considered, so I'm delivering on my promise. Written rather quickly, and not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. I hope you all find this as fun as I did as I wrote it. :)
> 
> Oh, PS. Jensen has a Keurig and I know Keurigs are terrible for the environment and I'm sorry. In my mind, he has one in his trailer but it has a reuseable K-cup so it's slightly less terrible. OK? OK.

Jensen scowled at his Keurig as it brewed as though it had personally offended him. He drummed his fingers on the countertop of his trailer’s kitchenette impatiently and shuffled one foot back and forth across the floor in a manner reminiscent of something he’d seen JJ do in her ballet class.

His upper lip twitched into a snarl and he lost himself in the steady stream of caffeine leaving the Keurig and filling his mug. It wasn’t fast enough. He needed caffeine.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

He needed to hit something. But since he was generally against vandalism and there wasn’t anything in here designed for punching, he needed caffeine.

The door to his trailer opened and closed, but he was lost enough in his train of thought that he missed it until he felt the familiar tingle of someone standing behind him.

“You wrapped?” His voice was monotone, resigned. He didn’t take his eyes off the coffee stream.

“About ten minutes ago.” The reply was equally subdued, and then a pair of familiar arms came around his middle and when the voice spoke again, it was right against his neck. “I’m so sorry, Jensen.”

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. The coffee finished draining into his mug, but instead of grabbing for it, he balled his fists against the countertop. His skin was on fire and he felt uncomfortable in his own clothes. But all he said was, “I should call Deedee.”

Misha nodded, and Jensen felt it because by now Misha had molded himself around Jensen’s back like a human blanket, and when he moved his head up and down it brushed against Jensen’s spine. He didn’t say anything, and that was annoying.

Jensen really wanted him to say something, but he had no idea what.

When the words didn’t come, Jensen wrapped the knuckles of his left hand against the countertop. “Say something,” he demanded. “Say… I don’t know. Anything.”

A few beats of silence followed, and Jensen thought for a moment that maybe Misha wasn’t going to respond. But then his tenor voice said, “I’m proud of you,” and there wasn’t anything else, as though Misha knew Jensen just needed the little bit of a push to use as a catalyst.

He turned around in Misha’s embrace to face him. “Proud of me? You’re proud of me? For what? For wasting my time? For-- for saying things that are going to affect my reputation, and for what? Cruz still won. Damn Cheeto is still president. Kelly lost, Abrams…”

“Abrams didn’t lose yet,” came the firm interruption. Jensen just shrugged and turned his lips further into a pout.

“Why’d we do it, Mish? What’s it all for? What is any of this for, anyway?”

Misha sighed and dropped his arms, but only so that he could loosely take Jensen’s hands in his, loosely joining them on either side of their bodies. “I’m sorry,” he started, and then leaned forward, and Jensen did the same, and their foreheads were pressing together, so Misha’s natural course of action was to let go of his right hand so that he could bring an arm up to rest at the nape of Jensen’s neck. The gesture was familiar and calming, and Jensen let himself draw a breath and exhale, bringing his emotions down from their breaking point just a smidge. “But you’re wrong.”

“I’m-- what now?”

“You’re looking at this the wrong way. I mean, am I disappointed in these few races? Sure. But there was no way we were going to win them all, Jensen. Anybody who went in thinking that was lost from the start. It wasn’t about taking it all. It was about making gains. And America did that.”

Jensen responded with a hmmff before turning back around to grab his coffee. “No thanks to Texas.”

His back was still turned as he headed for the couch, but when Misha next spoke from behind him, there was definitely an air of _ I just rolled my eyes so hard at you _ in his tone. “You’re laser-focused on Beto.”

“Yeah, well, I came out of the political closet for him and he lost. So sue me for being a little bitter.” He sipped his coffee, and they sat for a long time in silence, but Jensen knew Misha was waiting for him to say something else. He sighed and put the coffee down. “What? You got nothing to say to that?” He chanced a sidelong glance at Misha, who was sitting next to him casually, one arm thrown over the back of the couch so that if Jensen would relax and sit back, he’d probably be in a comfortable embrace. But he couldn’t. He was still itching and fidgety. He still wanted to hit something. “I want to hit something.”

At that, Misha barked a laugh. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really. This is… this sucks, Misha, you know? This whole thing just sucks.”

“Yes. I agree. This whole thing does suck. Whole lot of suckage.”

“And we did what we did and it didn’t change things.”

“I disagree.”

“And-- what?”

“Thing is, Jensen, if you’re going to be politically active, you have to be willing to graciously accept some defeats, and you have to look deeper than the final result. Young people voted in  _ huge  _ numbers. Women now occupy a hundred seats in the House of Representatives. People of color, immigrants, hell, Colorado’s got an openly gay governor. These are good things, Jensen. Put your focus there, and keep going.”

“But it  _ sucks _ .” He probably sounded like he was whining, but he was having a hard time caring about that. “It’s hard.”

“Yeah, nobody said it would be easy, did they?” Misha sighed and moved closer, then grabbed Jensen’s shoulder and pulled him down into a cuddle, which Jensen accepted with quiet resignation. “You know what, though?”

“What?”

“I’m glad I’ve got you.”

“You’re a fucking sap.”

“Mmmm.” Misha turned and nosed below Jensen’s ear at a particularly sensitive place on his neck, and Jensen whined in a different sort of way. “Tell you something else…”

“Hmmmm?”

“Patriotism looks so sexy on you. Makes me wanna… do all kinds of things… to encourage you to keep it up.” He nipped Jensen’s earlobe, and Jensen let out a yelp.

Warm lips found his next, and Jensen closed his eyes and melted into the kiss as Misha’s hands started skirting northward, under his shirt at his sides.

“I’m up,” Jensen groaned as that mouth trailed away from his and started laying in an assault on his neck. “Definitely… definitely up, definitely… hmmmmish…”

“You wanna call your wife first, or you wanna fuck first?”

“Fuck first,” he grumbled, bucking his hips up for emphasis.

“Coffee? I don’t want to interrupt.” But his actions belied his words, hands going south again to stroke Jensen’s length through the denim of his jeans.

“Fuck coffee. ‘S always more coffee.”

“OK then.” An expert hand opened his pants and slipped inside and Jensen tilted his head back with an open-mouthed moan of acceptance. “How do you feel about me jerking you while we discuss how I wanna see you on the political trail for Beto’s 2020 presidential run?”

“No.”

“But--”

He finally smiled, face splitting with his first real smile in hours, and sat up just enough to capture Misha’s lips with his own to hush him. Somehow he lost his balance and they tumbled onto the floor, Misha flat on his back and Jensen braced above him, both of them laughing softly into the inch of space between their faces. “How do you feel about getting fucked by a Texas Democrat?” His voice came out in a low growl, surprising both of them.

“I feel like those are my favorite kinds of Democrats to get fucked by. ‘Specially the bow-legged ones with  _ I voted _ stickers.” As Misha spoke, he squirmed and opened his legs a bit, giving Jensen more room to settle between them.

“Well then I’ve got news for you.” He shifted off of Misha and sat up to shimmy out of his own pants and boxer briefs, then pulled the sticker off his shirt before removing the shirt itself.

After a moment’s pause, he shrugged and put the sticker on his forehead, clearly not as finessed in his actions as he’d planned.

Misha laughed - his full, nose-scrunched-up, belly-rolling MIsha laugh - and reached up to remove the sticker.

He urged Jensen back down and reclaimed his lips before Jensen felt the sure, sharp sting of a single slap to his right ass cheek.

It took him a moment to figure out that Misha didn’t have the sticker anymore, but when the realization hit, he returned to their makeout session with renewed fervor, lips claiming Misha’s, tongue asserting dominance over his mouth, hands working open buttons and zippers and removing his clothes. “Where’s yours, hotshot?”

“I voted by mail. I didn’t get one.” Jensen sat back, eyebrows raised. “Come onnnn…”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you the one who insisted we shouldn’t have sex with people who don’t vote? How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I took a picture!” He took note of Jensen’s self-satisfied smirk and his face went slack. “I hate you.”

“Liar-- oof!” In one swift move, Misha had switched their positions, and now Jensen found himself on his hands and knees with Misha folded over his back. “Hey! This wasn’t…” But there was the unmistakable sound of lube being squirted onto fingers and a condom being torn open.

“You’re the one who paid the sticker price of admission. Gotta make good on my promise, I suppose.” There was a begrudging tone to the declaration, but a glance over his shoulder told Jensen his partner was feeling anything  _ but _ . “Besides, much as I like getting fucked by a Texas Democrat with bow legs… I like fucking ‘em even more.”

“I don’t feel like this was a very democratic negotiation.”

“Damn straight, this isn’t a democracy.”

“What is it, then?” Fingers were working him open, and Jensen groaned at the gentle, pleasant stretch. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the banter, but damn if he wasn’t going to hold out as long as he could.

Another glance back and he caught Misha with his head cocked in consideration. “A fuckocracy,” he finally returned, face serious, voice deadpan, and Jensen’s laugh came out in a stuttered, incredulous giggle.

“A fuckocracy?”

“Fuckockracy,” Misha repeated with a decisive nod. “United States of Fuckmerica, and you know what?”

“W-- fff Mish-- what?”

The fingers came out and Jensen felt the blunt cockhead pressing at his entrance in their absence. “Today is Erection Day.”

Jensen collapsed into a giggle fit so strong that he barely felt the head of Misha’s dick slip past his rim. But the first forceful thrust brought him back down to earth, and Jensen grunted out a reply. “How long you been holdin’ on to that one?”

“At least a week.” Misha’s composure slipped and he started to laugh, too, which affected his rhythm and brought his breath in harsh pants. “This is the most ridiculous fuck we’ve ever had, man.”

“I love you anyway.”

Misha shifted, changing his angle slightly, and this time managed ot nail Jensen’s prostate. “Right there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, right there.”

“Love you too, Jay. Love you so fucking much.”

“Fuckocracically?”

“Shut up.” He rolled his hips, and Jensen, with one last breathy laugh, gave himself over to the wonderful feeling of having sex with this wonderful man, and in doing so, he realized something: Misha was right. Not that he could admit it out loud, of course, but Misha was totally right. Sure, there had been a few heartbreakers tonight, but the renewed freedom with which Jensen felt he could be comfortable in the arms of a lover who wasn’t his wife; a lover who was a  _ man _ ; a lover who made his heart swell and his wife’s heart swell and overall brought a sense of compersion to all four members of their quad… well… they hadn’t gained everything back, but it was very clear they’d gained something.

And that was enough to make him want to keep going.


End file.
